Intoxication
by Ace-of-spades3
Summary: The world is saved again, who saw that coming? However, during a celebratory party, an unlikely character drinks a little too much... Yuffentine!


_When you've saved the world for the third time in a row, it does get a little wearisome. The fights get harder, the scars get deeper, the skin gets thicker. Tears and blood flow in synchrony and emotions run high. Relationships are formed, bonds are broken, and existences are entwined with the most unlikely personalities._

_Lives are lost._

_Lives, however, can be rebuilt through paying debts to the world. Lives that hang on crystal wings can be grounded by adversity, but hope can raise it to a mile high; nothing is too irreversible to recede into darkness._

_Lives can be wrought anew._

_Plus, you get a fucking good party at the end of it._

With a gloved hand, Vincent held his head upright on the table, his black hair cascading past his sharp, pale face, strewn in messy locks. His eyes were bleary with the effects of intoxication, but his work-in-progress pyramid of beer bottles hinted at his state before his slurred speech did. Elegantly wasted, he languidly turned his dipped head towards his group of companions, strewn across the bar in a fashion not quite fitting for saviours of the world. Tifa, who was behind the counter pulling pints and mixing drinks, was stumbling a little as she passed a glass to Cloud, while Cid and Barret guffawed spiritedly at what seemed like nothing, making a rather less inebriated Reeve feel somewhat paranoid as they pointed at him secretively, loudly whispering something that sounded suspiciously like 'cat fetish'. Red and Shelke had made themselves scarce some time ago. Yuffie, however, had deigned not to make an appearance all night, heading straight up to her room the second she had arrived home that afternoon from a day out with the young newcomer. Since Vincent's return two days ago, she had hardly shown her face at all.

The gunslinger would have considered the Wutaian's strange behaviour more if his thoughts were not so addled by this point A faint nausea was beginning to rise within his throat, but he shook it away with a fuzzy shake of the head, flinching ever so slightly as he was convinced he felt something rattle in the mess that was, at this point, his brain. Surveying once more the mess of bodies that he considered his friends, he smiled inwardly as he realised the cheery mien of what Cait Sith had referred to as a 'good old traditional piss-up'. Bearing in mind the copious amount of alcohol consumed, there was very little sordid about this drunken affair. It was full of good cheer, and so felt Vincent; warm, content, maybe even a little loved. For the first time in longer than he could remember, he didn't feel lonely.

"Hey Valentine, get over here!"

Cid's voice jerked Vincent out of his tangle of mixed up confusion. The ex-Turk now welcomed these interruptions; he welcomed conversation and jest and company. Standing a little uneasily, he began to head towards the older – younger – pair. He forgot sometimes, that he had lived as long as he had. Thirty years of sleep flies by; he still considered himself to be twenty-seven, and so did the others. Why confuse it with semantics and technical points?

"Barret," Cid continued, "says he don't reckon ah could beatcha at a game o' shots, clearly provin' how little he knows me."

"So?"

"Well, ain't it obvious? You an' me, man. Mano et mano an' all that crap."

"I'm not sure tha's a good idea," Vincent replied, stumbling over the simple words.

Ten minutes later, however, Vincent had proven that his drunken conviction was really not as strong as it should have been. Cloud, Tifa, Reeve and even Red had gathered to watch the game, but after the eighth shot, Cid, who had already drunk most of Tifa's stock, was quite close to the floor. Barret, close to winning his bet, had nearly proclaimed Vincent the ultimate winner of all that involved binge drinking when Cid raised his head from the table.

"Wait, wait, ain't done yet."

Vincent felt a smile coming on, a familiar annoying twitch in his lips as he raised his glass. In an instant though, before he could even taste the liquor, he dropped the glass on the table. It broke with a glassy tinkle, spilling it's contents, seeping in to cracks in the table. The alcoholic nausea had become more apparent in Vincent's throat, and he suddenly leapt from his chair to exit the room, trying his damnedest to inconspicuously cover hiss mouth as he left with as much dignity as he could muster while trying not to throw up. The group peered after him as he retreated down the corridor, tumbling into the walls as his shaky legs tried not to wobble.

"Hey Cid," commented Barret, "ten gil says he's out cold in the bathroom before the half hour's up."

The old pilot paused pensively for a moment. Normally, he would have wagered against anyone who had drunk as much as Vincent had; however, under normal circumstances he would never wager against the ex-Turk anyway. But this time he had to go with his gut instinct.

"Not a chance Cowboy. Ah may as well jes' give you the money."

The noise of hastened footsteps up the wooden stairs met Yuffie's ears as she sat on her bed, doodling in the margin of the copy of 'Crime and Punishment' that she was attempting to read. Shelke stirred in the bed across from her own as a door slammed loudly shut. Rolling her eyes at the din, Yuffie decided that it was probably just someone going to bed. Shushing gently to inspire the young girl back into a deep sleep, the little ninja leaned over and pulled the covers up to her chin, smiling fondly. She liked Shelke; there was something about her consistent youth and learning that somehow, Yuffie felt she could relate to. Her quietness, however, could sometimes be a little unnerving to the vigorous ninja.

Shelke seemed to settle once more, a little sigh escaping her mouth. But when a crashing sound echoed through the thin walls, she snapped open her bright blue eyes and turned to Yuffie tiredly.

"Yuffie Kisaragi?" she ventured softly.

"Hm?"

"Could you please stop whoever that is making such a racket?"

"Sure thing. You go back to sleep."

"Thank you."

Grumbling gruffly as she tiredly rolled out of bed, the ever graceful 'White rose' of Wutai stomped through the piles of unfolded clothes strewn over the floor to reach the closed door of their bedroom. The less-than-pleasant noise of someone retching caught her offended ears the second that she was within earshot, and so she stepped towards the bathroom with some degree of reluctance before knocking gingerly on the door.

"Hey. Are you okay in there?"

She got nothing but a deep groan in reply so, hesitantly, she turned the knob and let herself in, despite the attempt that the person within made to discourage her. This really just entailed another throaty groan and Yuffie ignored it al the same. Pushing open the door, she slipped inside.

"Vincent…! What the hell happened to you.?"

"Yuffie… go 'way, 'm dealing with it."

"This is not dealing with it. You look pitiful."

And so he did. She was a little shocked to see him in the state he was; her friend, normally so refined, so courteous, so genteel, slumped down the bathroom wall in a totally ungainly manner, his shirt half unbuttoned and stained with the distasteful evidence of his night's drinking. His silken hair was matted with damp and vomit. He was leaning uncomfortably against the toilet, one arm flung across the seat, his handsome face inclined towards the porcelain bowl. If the situation hadn't been so surreal, Yuffie felt that she might either laugh or cry to see him in this way. His alabaster skin seemed almost translucent, it was so drained; he had the sticky residue around his mouth, and his eyes weren't focusing on anything in particular. He looked pathetic but even managed to do it elegantly at the same time. His long legs were bent and splayed out in front of him as he rested against the toilet, and his breathing was heavy and irregular.

Stepping slowly towards him in the small room, Yuffie coughed awkwardly. She felt somewhat embarrassed by this situation, and she had no doubt that when Vincent sobered up, he would too. With a sigh and the shake of the head, she knelt down beneath his legs and asked him with a gentle inquisition:

"How did you get like this?"

"Cid-" Vincent began, but Yuffie quickly cut him off.

"Stupid jerk. I knew this'd have something to do with him."

"I won though," Vincent declared softly with a nod.

He let out a heavy sigh and closed his red eyes. He looked absolutely exhausted. A familiar pang hit Yuffie's heart as she watched him, felt him close to her, even in this state. Leaning towards him from where she had knelt down, she brushed his midnight hair away from his eyes and inspected him with scrutiny.

"I've gotta tell you Valentine, you aren't lookin' your best."

With that, she grabbed his arm and pulled it towards herself gently, attempting to hoist it about her shoulder. He made some mumbling attempts to stop her, shaking his arm away, but she was firm with him. Shuffling around in a manner fairly reminiscent of a crab, she sidled close to his side and began to stand, but he wasn't having any of that.

"Vincent, get up God damnit!"

He rolled his head in her vague direction and opened his eyes slowly. His gaze met her beseeching expression in askance to which she replied with nothing but an earnest appeal.

"Please Vinnie?"

Vincent said nothing, but he began to drag his legs underneath himself. Replacing his arm once more about her shoulders, she began to stand again. This time, her friend attempted to stand himself, leaning hard against Yuffie to stop himself from toppling over. She groaned with the excess weight, put slipping her arm behind his waist, she supported him.

"Come on. We'll clean you up in your room."

Guiding him with her arm, she steered him out into the hall. He rested his head on the top of hers as they walked, exhaustion clear as he almost seemed to fall into her as they travelled the small distance down the hall to arrive at his room. His feet shuffled against the wooden boards, dragging slightly as he relied on his younger friend to do the walking.

After what seemed like an hour, they arrived at the door of his room, and she transferred him to her other side so that she could open his door and pull him within where she laid him down on his bed, sitting beside him herself, and allowed him to curl up, stroking his hair absently to lull him into sleep. She stared at him for a while, his eyes closed, and his face peaceful, despite the state of disarray he was in. When she realised what she was doing however, she recoiled and stood up once more.

"I'll… be back in a sec."

Vincent mumbled in reply, hardly even moving as he reclined on his bed. As Yuffie made to leave the room, she lingered in the doorway for a moment, glancing back at her friend, considering him shyly. With a sigh, she glanced down at the floor before leaving to retrieve a flannel from the bathroom with which she could clean his handsome face and restore him to his former beauty. When she returned, she sat back down beside him and pulled him over to face her. She began to wipe around his mouth with the flannel while he blearily just stared into her eyes. It was beginning to unnerve her, and she was about to rebuke him for his endless gaze when he suddenly asked:

"Why're you doing this?"

"You're a mess, Vincent," she replied quickly.

"Y'didn't answer my question, Yuffie."

"I just… I just wanted to take care of you."

Taking this information in, Vincent closed his eyes and sighed deeply, relaxing into the pillow. Yuffie stopped applying the flannel to his mouth to peek about his room, realising that she had never actually been inside it. Vincent didn't like people being in his room. He felt as though it was his only remaining privacy in the candid company he shared. Occasionally Red would come in, and Yuffie spied an unfinished game of chess that hinted at the fiery creature's presence. She had no doubt that they had played their game of genius until they were down to their last pieces and simply couldn't figure out a way to beat one another. She couldn't fathom chess; where was the excitement? However, she could never call Vincent boring. Once you've seen a man flying head first into a giant, world-destroying monster, you can't call them boring.

"Yuffie?"

She felt Vincent's hand touch her own, and she turned back to look at him.

"Yeah?"

"Where've you been?"

"I'm right here," she stated confusedly.

"The past coupla days. Where've you been? Why didn't you come'n see me?"

"You don't sound like you Vincent," Yuffie declared, changing the subject hastily, almost angrily, "I don't like talking to you when you're like this. It's as if I'm talking to a child. We'll talk when you're sober."

"Answer me."

"I've cleaned you up," she stated in a choked voice, "Just go to sleep."

With that she began to stand, wiping the damp away from her eyes as she turned away. However, he stopped her before she could leave, pulling her roughly back towards him. With their faces so close together, Yuffie could not avoid t he inquisitive askance of his eyes, locked in his bloodlight of a moment of sobriety.

"Where," he asked firmly, "have you been?"

"I… I didn't want to see you!" she finally cried, trying to pull her hands away from his grasp; he just held her tighter.

"Why?"

"Because… because…"

Her eyes were welling with tears, passionate, angry, distraught. Crystalline droplets glimmered under the lights for an evanescent moment, and her eyes shone as the caught the faint red glow of Vincent's own. Words swam together in a twisted jumble in her throat, affirmations of fear, of hatred, of anger, of love spilling into her heart. She felt drowned in her own emotions, ands before she realised what she was doing, she had flung her skinny arms around his neck and begun sobbing into his shoulder., curled in the crook of his collar-bone.

Rendered helpless, Vincent wasn't sure what to do, where to put his arms, where he was allowed to touch. He felt unused to the situation, his hands hovering above her body, not daring to touch upon her. He knew he was quivering, and hoped that, in her outburst, Yuffie had failed to notice. He finally chanced to reciprocate the embrace, his heart beating loudly in his ears, blood boiling at the touch. He whispered throatily:

"Why, Yuffie? Yuffie, 'm here. Tell me."

"I'm scared," she cried into his silken shirt, "I'm scared that you'll disappear again. I'm scared that this time you won't come back. I'm scared of having my heart broken."

"Your heart?"

He pulled away from her to look into her tear streaked face, touching a gloved finger to the dewy trails on her cheeks. She shied away from his soft touch at first, the feel electric against her skin. But he insisted, caressing the curve of her face gently, before turning her face towards his own. She drew breath hesitantly. Taking a brave leap of faith, she leaned in towards him, and she rested her head against his. He inclined his own towards her, leaning on the top of hers, and they sat in silence, breathing and feeling together. The lovely silence was broken, however, when Yuffie began once more to speak.

"I think it started at the Gold Saucer."

"What did?"

"I saw you," she continued, either ignoring his question, or simply not hearing it, "The look on your face when you saw the Ghost Hotel. You lip kinda twitched, and I thought you were going to burst out laughing. That look only lasted a second, but it was the first time I saw you smile, even a little. After that, I paid attention. Not for any real reason; I just wanted to see it again. It made me happy to see it."

"Yuffie…"

"Even some silly things made you smile. Every time Cloud said 'mosey', I saw this little sarcastic grin on your face. I thought I even saw you smile a little fondly at me once, when I threatened to throw up on Cid. But that was probably just some pipedream."

"Tha's not true," Vincent told her softly, earnestly, drunkenly.

"What isn't?"

"I'm very fond of you," he answered.

"Not in that way though Vincent. You and me have very different views on our relationship."

"How d'you see it?"

"We," she replied, looking away from him shyly, "are so wrong for each other, in so many ways. I'm too young, I'm not serious enough, I make jokes outta things I don't understand, I get scared easily, I once threw up on your shoes on the Highwind, I'm super loud, I doodled in your copy of Crime and Punishment… There are so many things."

"Oh Yuffie…" Vincent sighed, shaking his head, "I don't like you in spite of those things. If anything, I like you because of them. _Especially_ the doodles in my book."

Yuffie started to respond to what Vincent had just said, but she stopped before the first syllable was even out of her mouth. All she could muster was a hesitant croak. She searched his face for signs of sarcasm or teasing, but she found none.

"You've been there at the hardest times, Vincent," she managed, "But I've always felt so useless to you. Why would you ever want me?"

Cupping her face in his hand, he looked straight into her, holding her gaze with his own, and he professed, almost meekly:

"I don't think I really realised until Nero attacked you. I hadn't felt so scared in a long time. If something'd happened t'you, I'm not sure what I would've done. Being with you during those hard times made them easy. And you've never been useless. If it weren't for you, I'd've been dead when Rosso attacked me. In fact, if not for you, AVALANCHE never would have found me at all, those years ago."

An arid discomfort had settled within Yuffie's throat, and she swallowed thickly. She wanted to say something, to tell him how much his simple words meant, but the words died on her lips as she felt him pull her closer, touching her lower back enticingly, sparks in his fingertips. She felt the heat of his body on hers, a strange closeness that she had never experienced.

And then he kissed her. Though she had expected it, not a thing could have prepared her for the light touch of his lips, the warm taste of something almost metallic on his probing tongue. She felt as though she were drowning, praying that the wave wouldn't wash away, praying that she could stay suffocated by him. It was short and chaste and drunkenly simple, but it was perfect and everything that she ever wanted in the brief exchange. When he pulled away from her, she found her mouth grasping desperately on it's own accord, inexperienced but learning. She looked at his face, beautiful and serene, and was surprised to discover a little smile gracing his lips.

"What's so funny?" she asked, almost muted.

"... You just kissed a sicky mouth," he replied, elegantly cheeky.

She opened her mouth to berate him for ruining her perfect moment, but before she could express another word, his mouth was on hers once more, pulling her tighter towards him in a warm, tactile lover's embrace, It wasn't darkly erotic, a sordid affair in a darkened room with an older man in the middle of the night. Neither was it a virginal, fumbling encounter by two innocent souls who knew no better than to grasp keenly at skin and mouth and tongue.

When they fell back to the pillow, lay together in his bed, they weren't over come by the amorous hormones of their pent up sexual frustration directed at one other, tearing dangerously at clothes and fighting savagely beneath the bedsheets.

When they fell back to the pillow, lay together in his bed, they slept.


End file.
